


Blue and Brown

by ourladyholmes



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Anxious Victor Nikiforov, Canon Divergence, Colors, Colours, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Ice Skating, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, My poor sons are going to go through a lot, Past Child Abuse, Rating May Change, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate AU, Soulmates, Soulmates - Colours, Soulmates AU, Supportive Katsuki Yuuri, Supportive Victor Nikiforov, VictUuri, Victor is a precious baby, Victor's parents are awful people, Victuri, Vikturi, Work In Progress, Yuri on Ice - Freeform, sorry in advance, they are so in love help, yuuri and victor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 18:45:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8633923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourladyholmes/pseuds/ourladyholmes
Summary: “So, when I meet my soulmate I’ll be able to see different colours? Like you do,Okāsan?” “Yes, my darling boy! You’ll be able to see the golden of the sun, as it peaks over Hasetsu at dawn, the rosy pink sky as the evening draws to a close, and the chocolate brown of Vicchan’s fur as he scampers to greet you after practise!” Yuuri giggled as Vicchan’s ears raised from across the room in interest at the mention of his name. “Every colour you can imagine my love, vermillion, violet, lemon, lime, carmine, amber and marigold! There’s a beauty in this world that comes with colour, Yuuri,” Yuuri beamed at his mother. Joy overflowing his little body, he couldn’t wait to meet his soulmate! He wanted to meet them right now.





	1. Lapis

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> Recently I have become obsessed with Soulmate Au's and YOI so here, have some Victuuri!

Yuuri had always seen in blue. Shades of lapis, cobalt, and cerulean, made up his vision. At first, he hadn’t complained. His mother had told him that it was normal to see the world in one colour - that everyone did at the beginning of their lives. 

“Your soulmate’s eyes must be blue, darling,” His mother had crooned to him one day, when he had asked so eagerly why he could only see in one colour.

“What’s a soulmate?”

Hiroko Katsuki smiled gently down at her little boy as she reached for him, and plucked him up into her arms. “A soulmate is your perfect match my love, the yin to your yang, the sun to your moon,” She said as she brushed Yuuri’s dark hair back from his face. “Your soulmate is the person who loves you most in the world, you’re both two sides of the same coin.”

“Is that what  Otōsan is to you? Is he your soulmate?” Yuuri asked his mother curiously.

“Yes, Yuuri, your father is. Before I met him, I could only see the world in brown, dark streaks of coffee and hazelnut. Then I met your father, and suddenly the world was clear. Vibrant. As if someone had cleaned the lenses on my eyes!” His mother sighed wistfully in recollection. Yuuri gazed at her in awe, excitement brewed inside of him and a wide grin flashed across his chubby cheeks.

“So, when I meet my soulmate I’ll be able to see different colours? Like you do, Okāsan ?”

“Yes, my darling boy! You’ll be able to see the golden of the sun, as it peaks over Hasetsu at dawn, the rosy pink sky as the evening draws to a close, and the chocolate brown of Vicchan’s fur as he scampers to greet you after practise!” Yuuri giggled as Vicchan’s ears raised from across the room in interest at the mention of his name. “Every colour you can imagine my love, vermillion, violet, lemon, lime, carmine, amber and marigold! There’s a beauty in this world that comes with colour, Yuuri,”

Yuuri beamed at his mother. Joy overflowing his little body, he couldn’t wait to meet his soulmate! He wanted to meet them right now. He wanted to see Vicchan’s fur, and the colour of his mother’s eyes. The true colour of the ice as he glided across its surface. Maybe it was carmine, or marigold? The possibilities were endless.

His mother popped him back down on the floor, patted his head once, and then turned back to the sink to continue rinsing the cutlery from dinner. Yuuri was almost out the door when he stopped dead, and turned back to his mother in confusion. 

“But wait! Mari can already see in colour, Mama!”

Yuuri’s mother froze at the sink, her hand clenched around a bowl. Slowly, she released the bowl back into the soapy water. “Yes, she can, sweetheart,” She said hesitantly.

“Then how come I’ve never seen her soulmate?” Yuuri crossed his arms defiantly across his chest, a pout manifesting on his lips as he glared at his mother. “I want to meet Mari’s soulmate!”

The room went silent. His mother, who was usually so cheerful, so energetic, had fallen quiet. She didn’t turn to face Yuuri, she stared down dully into the soapy water, and tried to ignore the ache in her chest as she said quietly:

“Your sister doesn’t have a soulmate, Yuuri,”

Yuuri dropped his arms and stared wide-eyed at his mother’s back. Mari didn’t have a soulmate? He didn’t understand. Wasn’t everyone supposed to have a soulmate? His six year old mind couldn’t comprehend the idea of not having one. Of not seeing the world in blue.

“Not everyone has a soulmate,” His mother seemed to hear his thoughts. She’d started moving again, and talking in a casual tone. As if she was discussing the weather. “Some people just happen to be born without one,”

Yuuri’s fingers squeezed into his t-shirt. He couldn’t imagine not seeing the world in blue. In a way, he was envious of his big sister. She didn’t need to wait around for a soulmate to see colours, she could already see the scarlet roses, that his mother had so often described to him, and Vicchan’s eyes as they glowed mahogany in the sunlight. Mari didn’t have to rely on anyone to make the world beautiful for her, Yuuri did. Yet, he had a feeling that not having a soulmate made the world less somehow. That the colours would seem to lack something. A lack of love perhaps? Mari may have been able to see in colour, but she didn’t have a soulmate. The person who was meant to know her better than anyone, the one to love, and cherish her most in the world, and that, Yuuri thought, was somehow so much worse.

“It must be so lonely,” He murmured, closing his eyes and moving his fingers up to his eyelids, rubbing over them gently.

“Yes,” His mother sighed in resignation, despair lacing her tone. “It must be,”


	2. Nut Brown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor was overwhelmed. Relief ran through his body, and unadulterated joy shook his small frame. His soulmate accepted him. Him.

Victor Nikiforov glided across the ice rink. He could feel the eyes of the audience glued to him, critiquing his every move. He drifted to the center of the ice, his body tensing as his began the Biellmann Spin, a move which despite perfecting in practise had been difficult to manoeuvre. He let his eyes circle around the audience once, his head trying to make sense of the faces that sat watching him.

All he could decipher through the blur of his nut-brown vision was the blank look of boredom on his parent’s faces, who sat alongside his coach Yakov. His stomach tightened.

He’d asked his parents not to come. It only made his nerves worse, and he knew, he knew with absolute certainty that they would be judging his performance every step of the way. Not enjoying it, not being there to support their only son, but judging and making mental notes on the things he had done wrong.

His body slowed as he came down from the spin, and he skated back towards the outside of the rink, his legs picking up speed as he launched his body into a butterfly jump. He landed perfectly and the audience roared around him. Deafening cheers as ten year old Victor, one of the youngest competitive skaters in Russia, began to wrap up his free skate performance. He was aware of his aching limbs, fatigue threatening to drown him like a tsunami any second, but he had to squeeze in one last move. His parents were watching. He had to add one more jump.

He traveled around the rink one last time, building up his speed as he went. His last move was a risk - a Double Toe Loop. Victor had only just learnt how to execute the jump, he had perfected his Single Toe Loop, but he knew his parents wouldn’t be impressed by that. They had seen him do it before. Anxiously, he positioned his body, and pushing himself with one last burst of energy he flung himself into the air. His body twirled as it was supposed to, his arms gracefully swiveled with him and just as he thought he’d made it -

He crashed to the ice in a heap. Gasps echoed around the rink. Victor felt a sharp pain in his ankle as he attempted to stand, and quickly fell back down. He breathed in deeply. He’d been so close. So agonizingly close to landing that jump. He wanted to cry, to scream in frustration, because he had almost done it and now… Now his parents _definitely_ wouldn’t be pleased. Victor swiped at his eyes quickly, swallowed down his hiccups, and then slowly pushed himself up from the ice.

The crowd cheered as he hobbled across the ice, a sheepish smile plastered across his face, and he continued to wave to everyone as he made his way over to the kiss and cry area. His parents were already there, their faces seemed indifferent but Victor knew that this wasn’t the case. His mother, Natasha Nikiforov, was smiling blandly at him with dark chocolate lips. The audience would bypass the little furrow of her eyebrows and the way that her fingers were twitching against the fabric of her dress in fury. His father, Albert Nikiforov, smirked smugly at him. A member of the crowd would probably mistake this smirk as prideful, but Victor knew better. His father wasn’t proud of his performance, he was smug that Victor had failed. That his son would never be as good as him.

After his score was announced - and 'disappointingly' he was in third place - Yakov and his parents ushered him out of the arena quickly.

“That was utterly disgraceful, Victor!” His mother screamed as she shoved him into the changing rooms.

“Your worse performance by far,” His father remarked in a self-satisfied tone. “You couldn’t even manage a Double Toe Loop,  by the time I was your age I was able to perform the Triple Toe Loop and the Double Salchow!”

“I’m sorry, father, it won’t happen again,” Victor murmured as he sat down on one of the benches, and put his head in his hands. He could feel his father’s glare on him and he shrunk further back in his seat.

“You better not let this happen again, Victor. We do not pay for you to be a failure! We do not pay for you to win bronze in a competition! We are Nikiforov’s and we always win. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, mother,”

“Good, because so help me Victor, if you don’t earn a gold in your next competition I will pull you out of skating - For good!”

Victor’s hands fell from his face with a gasp, as he whipped his head up and locked eyes with his mother. Natasha stared at her son from across the room, and directed a look of shame and disgust in his direction. Victor felt his body begin to shake.

“Mother, no! Please, skating is all I have, it’s all I -”

“If it’s all you have, then why are you failing us?” His father hissed. “We expect more from you, Victor! You are putting shame on the Nikiforov name and your mother and I will tolerate it no longer,”

“I’ll do better! I swear, father, I’ll do better!” Victor said desperately.

His parents stared at him again, and Victor couldn’t help but feel as if he was a circus animal at the zoo. His parents looked at him like he was a freak, their light brown eyes - which he knew were actually blue - gazed at him and seemed to say _why are you such a disappointment?_ Victor wished he knew the answer.

“You have one last chance, Victor,” His mother said as she flipped her long hair over her shoulder and turned to leave the room. “Make it count!” She called after her shoulder. His father sent one last smirk in his son’s direction, then followed after his mother.

Victor and Yakov were left alone. Yakov stared at his student, rubbing the back of his neck out of the sheer awkwardness of the situation. He would never understand the pressures of being the only son of Natasha and Albert Nikiforov, Russia’s best Figure Skating Pair, but he saw the extent to which his parents pushed him and knew it was beginning to crush the boy, inside and out.

“Hey, look kid, you did really well out there today -”

“Yakov?” Victor whispered with a shaky breath. His face was downcast, and Yakov was unable to see the expression on Victor’s face. “Thank you for the encouragement, but would you mind leaving me alone for a few minutes?”

Yakov wanted to say no. He wanted to tell Victor _to hell with your parents, you go out there and skate for you!_ He didn’t. Instead he simply said: “Okay, get changed and we’ll get your ankle seen to,” He turned around and began to walk away, his steps quickening as Victor began to sob quietly behind him. And all Yakov could think was, _skater’s hearts are as fragile as glass._ Victor’s quiet sobbing had turned into what sounded like wailing behind him. _And his has just shattered._

Victor didn’t take any notice as Yakov left the room. He sobbed. Tears blinded him. Hiccups erupted from his small body, and soon he couldn’t see or hear or even think. He was seven years old again, and he’d fallen onto the ice for the first time and his mother had just yelled at him for being incompetent. He was eight years old again, and his father was lecturing him about his over-rotation, and the straightness of his legs. His was nine years old again, and his parents were ignoring him, as they always did unless it involved skating, and he just wanted to scream. His entire life had been filled of disappointing looks from his mother and father. They hated him. He was their only son and they hated him.   _I’m never going to be enough,_ Victor thought, _I’m so tired of never being enough. I’ll never live up to their expectations. I’ll never be what they want me to be, I’m not enough, I will never be enou_ -

Victor felt a small brush against his eyelids. He froze. His body going completely still, as the soft movement glided across his now closed eyelids, like a gentle breeze was caressing him. It was his soulmate. Victor wasn’t certain how he knew, but deep inside of him he was sure that it was his soulmate. His soulmate was thinking of him. The brushing against his eyelids didn’t stop, and Victor felt a sense of peace wash over him. He felt calm. Soothed. And never, in Victor’s life had he been so grateful to have a soulmate.

When Victor was four colour had disappeared. It was the single most terrifying moment of his life. It had been there one moment, the sky had been a light blue and the clouds had been white, and then suddenly everything was brown, brown, brown. He’d screamed. Yelled for his mother, shrieked that his colour was gone, why was his colour gone? His nanny, not his mother, had come rushing out of the house to where Victor was playing in the garden. She’d hauled him up into her arms, checking for injuries or abrasions, and the entire time Victor had kicked in her arms screaming that his colour was gone, why was his colour gone?

His nanny had then explained to him that Victor’s soulmate had been born, and that their eyes were brown. She explained that Victor wouldn’t be able to see any other colours, until he met his soulmate. And whilst she expressed her joy, her happiness that Victor had a soulmate, that he hadn’t taken after his parents who were most certainly not soulmates, Victor grew angrier and angrier. How dare someone steal his colour! How dare they take that away from him! He didn’t want a soulmate. And he continued to feel that way for the majority of his life. He had grown used to the shades of coffee, hazelnut, and chocolate that clouded his vision - but he had never accepted that he had a soulmate. His soulmate was simply a matter to be ignored. A distraction from his skating. He didn’t need a soulmate and he didn’t want one.

But, oh, how wrong he had been. He had never known this type of comfort, this sense of belonging, of acceptance. His parents had never touched him. No hugs, no hair ruffles, no quick kisses of the cheek. He’d been devoid of love for his whole and Victor was starving to be touched. He felt his body beginning to shake again - but not from sadness. No, this was from something else. Victor was overwhelmed. Relief ran through his body, and unadulterated joy shook his small frame. His soulmate accepted him. _Him._

It suddenly occurred to Victor, that perhaps this was one of the reasons that his parents disliked him so much. They would never know what it was to be accepted by their other halves, to feel their soulmate’s fingertips brush across their eyelids. His parents didn’t just hate Victor, they resented him. They were jealous over something that neither of them could understand nor ever would. It filled him with satisfaction, with pride.

“Thank you,” He wept, rubbing his eyelids with his fingertips, in the hopes that his soulmate would feel his touch, wherever they may be. “Thank you for accepting me.”


	3. Cerulean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes wandered to Takeshi’s face, and Yuuri was even more shocked to see the way that Takeshi marveled back at her. He was looking at Yuuko as if she was the only thing that he could see, the only thing that mattered. 
> 
> “Y - you…” Yuuko’s voice broke as tears slide down her cheeks. 
> 
> “You’re my soulmate,” Takeshi finished for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter was so grueling to write I am so sorry that it's terrible

Yuuri was twelve when he first witnessed two people finding their soulmates.

It happened on what Yuuri thought was going to be a normal Sunday morning. He’d woken up to find Vicchan curled around him like silk, and his alarm clock screeching that it was time to get up. Yuuri leapt from his bed, ignoring Vicchan’s whines behind him as he pulled on his training clothes and grabbed his skating gear.

“Vicchan, its Sunday! You know I need to go,” Yuuri put his hands on his hips as Vicchan gazed up at him for Yuuri’s bed. “No! The puppy eyes aren’t working today, mister!”

Vicchan continued to stare up at his owner, his wide brown eyes causing Yuuri to fidget where he stood.

“Oh, fine! Fine! I’ll walk you as soon as I come back, okay?” Yuuri said waving his arms around as he spoke, a habit he had picked up from his mother when she was frustrated. Vicchan curled back into a ball, and closed his eyes contentedly. _How is it that a dog, of all things, can have me wrapped around his finger so tightly?_ Yuuri thought bitterly, as he hoisted his skating gear over his shoulder and left the room.

“Ohayōgozaimasu, Yuuri!” His mother called as he passed the kitchen.

“Ohayō!” Yuuri said as he grabbed his coat down from the clothes peg next to the front door, and sat down on the floor to tie his laces up.

Yuuri heard his mother abandon her station in the kitchen, and pad quietly towards him. She’d been hovering around him constantly for the past week, when Yuuri had taken a fall at practise and twisted his ankle. His mother had rushed to the ice rink when Yuuko had called her, her arms had been shaking when she’d thrown them around him, and didn’t stop until he was safely off of the ice and in the family car. Hiroko Katsuki was the most gentle woman Yuuri had ever known, but when it came to looking after, or protecting, her children she was ruthless. She had forced Yuuri to take two days off of school to rest, and had virtually screamed at him anytime he dared to take a step out of his bed. Yuuri knew his mother didn’t want him to go back to Ice Castle, not until he was fully healed, and when his mother wanted something she usually got her way. Through sheer force of will and persuasion.

“Aren’t you having breakfast, darling?” She murmured as she sat down beside him and began to tie Yuuri’s other shoe up for him.

“You know I never eat before I skate, Mama,” Yuuri sighed and tried to swat her fingers away from his shoe. “I’m twelve, Mama, I think I can tie my shoe by myself!”

“Oh, hush, sweetheart!” She reprimanded him and pulled his laces together into a the perfect bow. Once finished, her fingers stayed clasped around his laces, a sad smile graced her lips.

“Mama?”

“Even if I begged you not to go, you still would… wouldn’t you, Yuuri?” His mother said with a hint of woe in her voice.

Yuuri opened his mouth to say something, to attempt to soothe his mother, but then promptly closed it.  Nothing he could say would help her. Yuuri, despite knowing how dangerous figure skating could be, despite being injured on multiple occasions, knew that he could never give up skating. It was intertwined in his blood, skating ran through his veins. It was in the graceful, albeit clumsy, way he walked and how his body seemed to flow whenever he listened to Swan Lake through his earphones. The way his feet began to practise his routine when he was stuck in a useless lesson at school, or how his skin itched when he had been away from the ice for too long. Skating was apart of Yuuri Katsuki.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered. “I know you worry that I’ll keep injuring myself but… That’s just apart of skating. I’m going to keep getting hurt, and sometimes I’ll be hurt seriously, and sometimes I won’t. But, I can’t give up skating. I couldn’t if I tried, Okāsan, it’s apart of who I am,”

Hiroko’s eyes began to water as she stared at her son. She was so proud of him, so proud of the young man he was becoming.  Skating was the only way that her shy little boy had ever been able to express him, when Yuuri stepped onto the ice he became a different person. He became one with the frost and music, his usual timidness melted away and left behind a core of confidence. His coffee-brown eyes became alive with excitement, his hesitancy in the way he moved was forgotten for that moment and replaced with something resilient. Hiroko had watched the ice breathe life into her frightened little boy, and it had given her hope. Hope that he would someday become as self-assured as he was on the ice, when he came off of it too. Figure skating was all Yuuri had, and Hiroko knew, despite her worries, she could never take that from him.

“I know, my lovely boy, I know,” She smiled at him softly, and then stood up, pulling her son up with her. “Now, you’re going to be late! Can’t keep Yuuko waiting!”

Yuuri smiled back at his mother in understanding, quickly turned and pulled his coat on, and then bounded out of the house, calling “Bye!” over his shoulder.

Yuuko beamed at Yuuri when he came racing into Ice Castle eighteen minutes later. She was leaning against the front desk, sipping on a Ramune lemonade and already dressed in her training gear - a white jacket with black leggings. Her white skates hung from her fingertips.

Yuuri beamed back at his friend, eager to be on the ice and practising. Yuuko had been learning one of Victor Nikiforov’s routines with Yuuri for the past month, and it was all either of them could think about. They’d been doing this since they had first met. Imitating the Russian figure skater’s routines repeatedly until they knew every movement, every pause, every spin and jump that Victor performed. It became an obsession… For Yuuri, more so than Yuuko, but the pair had bonded over their admiration for Victor’s flawless routines since the moment they had met and a friendship had formed.

“Yuuri!” Yuuko grinned at him again. Yuuri was bent over, hands clasped on his knees, and breathing erratically. He shouldn’t have run so fast, but he’d been desperate to get practising.

“Sorry -” He rasped out. “I know I’m late, won’t happen again so can we -”

“Practise?”

“Yeah,”

“Well I should hope so, considering I’ve been waiting here for so long!” Yuuko poked Yuuri in the ribs, amusement clear on her face. “Come on, slowpoke, I haven’t got all day!”

Yuuri followed Yuuko through the reception of Ice Castle, past the changing rooms, and finally into the ice rink. Yuuri breathed in the coldness. Contentment. Safety. Home. Yuuri had so many words to describe what the rink in front of him represented. The ice was Yuuri’s only solace, a time when his anxiety faded from his mind and it was just him. Just him and the ice. His fate was completely in his own hands, whether he fell, landed a jump, perfected a spin, it was all down to him.

“What routine are we up for today then?” Yuuko asked as she stood next to Yuuri and began to slip on her skates.

“Any, I don’t mind, as long as it’s one of Victor’s,”

Yuuko pursed her lips thoughtfully, and then snapped her fingers with a decision. “Alright, we’ll attempt his latest one, the routine that won him the Junior World Championship!”

“Perfect,” Yuuri grinned at his friend.

“You two are here again?” A gruff voice called out from behind the pair, and Yuuri twitched nervously as the voice came closer. He would know that voice anywhere. “Is this all you do? Practise?”

“Yes, Takeshi, we take skating seriously. Unlike some people,” Yuuko didn’t even turn around as she barked a retort back at the voice. Yuuri didn’t turn around either, he kept his eyes focused solely on his skates as he heard footsteps approach them.

“Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?” Takeshi hissed back as he grew closer to them. “I work just as hard as you, and even harder than that moron!”

Yuuri could feel a finger being pointed in his direction, and he couldn’t help the wince that overtook him. Whenever Takeshi was around, Yuuri always felt inferior to him. Squashed. Condensed into a ball of embarrassment and ridicule. Takeshi was two years older than Yuuri, he was a medium sized boy with a mess of black hair, though to Yuuri it was a deep blue, and a round face that always seemed so self-assured. Takeshi had made his opinion on Yuuri clear. Takeshi had hated him from the moment they’d met. He’d made fun of Yuuri’s spins, his gliding techniques, his imitation of Victor Nikiforov’s moves. Takeshi had attacked Yuuri for everything he was, and now Yuuri couldn’t even stand to be in the same rink as him, let alone two feet away from him.

“I’m going to get started,” Yuuri muttered under his breath. He turned around and shakily headed for the rink’s entrance.

“Running away are we, Yuuri?” Takeshi called nastily after him.

Yuuri heard a thump behind him, followed by a groan of pain. Yuuko had obviously hit him.

“Don’t be nasty to Yuuri!”

The pair began to squabble behind him, as they always did whenever they were in the same room. Yuuri ignored them and drifted slowly out onto the center of the ice. Calm washed over him, and he began to aimlessly move his body to a piece of music in his mind. He started with a camel spin, his legs gracefully twisting his body into a lazy circle. This is what he loved about figure skating, the quietness, the tranquility… Well it would have been tranquil, if he couldn’t still hear Yuuko and Takeshi screaming at each other from outside of the rink.

“Why are you so horrible!”

“Why are you always defending him?”

Yuuri tried to block them out again. _Forget about them,_ he thought, _focus_. He came down from the spin and skated from the center onto the outer part of the rink. He moved his legs gently, twisting his body into a spread eagle, a 3 turn, a bracket turn. Yuuri’s body went through it’s usual routine, slowly taking him through each technique he had learnt. He wanted to be stronger. He wanted to be better.

“You are so irritating!”

 _Ignore them._ Yuuri changed direction and began to move his legs faster. He wanted to attempt a Layback Spin, but he’d only managed to achieve it once, Yuuko had been the one to show him how to do it and since she was preoccupied… Yuuri sunk into a simple chasse as he continued on the ice. He’d seen Victor Nikiforov perform his step sequences immaculately, in every single competition that Victor took part in, a skill which Yuuri admired greatly. He wanted to be as good as Victor one day, maybe even better. 

His obsession with Victor had stemmed from watching Russia’s favourite skater show the world his flawless routines. Yuuri was in awe of the older boy. The way that Victor moved his body, like it was liquid, the flow of his limbs as he moved from step to step, jump to jump, never slowing down - only growing more beautiful as the routine wound down. Beautiful. The word fitted Victor perfectly. Yuuri had never seen someone so beautiful, from his light cerulean hair, to the sky blue of his eyes. Victor Nikiforov was the definition of radiant.

Yuuri began to speed up to execute a jump when he heard a screech. He skidded to a stop, his blades scraping against the ice, and turned to look at where the source of the sound had come from. Yuuko was stood frozen in front of Takeshi. Her hand was inches from his cheek, as if she had been about to slap. This wasn’t anything unusual, Yuuko slapped Takeshi all the time. What was different was that Yuuko was staring directly into Takeshi’s eyes, something that Yuuri had never seen her do before. It was as if she was spellbound. A look of wonder crossed her face, and Yuuri had never been so confused in his life. His eyes wandered to Takeshi’s face, and Yuuri was even more shocked to see the way that Takeshi marveled back at her. He was looking at Yuuko as if she was the only thing that he could see, the only thing that mattered.

“Y - you…” Yuuko’s voice broke as tears slide down her cheeks.

“You’re my soulmate,” Takeshi finished for her.

A dead silence creeped over the arena, and Yuuri sensed he was intruding. Yet, he couldn’t move. His feet were grounded to the ice. Rooted in place. Yuuri watched in amazement as Takeshi wiped the tears off of Yuuko’s face. He stared at the happiness that seemed to swirl around them, the euphoria, the joy.

“I-I can see! Oh, God, Takeshi I can see so many colours!” Yuuko wailed as her eyes flickered around the room. “So many colours…”

Yuuri stared at the of them, as they wrapped their arms around one and other. Clinging on for dear life. He watched as they cried, out of fear, out of relief. They had finally found one and other. Two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle clicking into place. Best friends. Soulmates. It made sense really, the two had always been fighting, ready to tear each other to pieces at any moment. Both stubborn, both headstrong and unwilling to back down. Perfect for each other in every sense of the word.

And Yuuri, for the millionth time in his life, had never wanted to meet his soulmate more. _Where are you,_ he thought, _where are you, where are you?_ Yuuri turned away from the pair and glided across the ice. He wanted to go home, he wanted to be away from all of this glee. From this exhilaration. It charged around him in the air, making his stomach turn with envy. He needed to go home.

 _“_ Your eyes are brown, Takeshi, your eyes are brown! How did I never know that your eyes were brown?” Yuuko all but yelled from outside of the rink.

Yuuri continued to skate around the rink, pretending not to hear a word that was being said, acting as if he hadn’t heard anything at all. He didn’t want to hear anything. He wanted to cry, to collapse to the ice and weep because he’d never felt so alone in his entire life. He had never missed his soulmate as much as he did in that moment, and as he lowered his body into a sit spin, feeling the hot tears break free from his eyes, all he could think was _I will find you, please wait for me. I will find you._


	4. Beige

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Victor! Congrats!” 
> 
> Victor looked up at the source of the sound. His eyes landed on a boy not much younger than him, with a mop of yellow-brown hair, and an eager smile on the boy’s beige face. The boy gazed down at Victor in wonder, admiration evident in the way his hands were clasped together like a prayer. Victor couldn’t help but smile back at him.
> 
> “What’s your name?” He called back to the boy. 
> 
> “Christopher Giacometti!” The boy, now known as Chris, shouted back quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the wait for this chapter. School got really busy during December, and then Christmas arrived and I was even busier! I apologise for keeping you all waiting.
> 
> Just as a quick note to everyone - When Yuuri and Victor mention the fact that they know what colour something truly is, for example if Yuuri says that he knows Victor's hair is truly silver, it's because someone has told him the true colour. He's never seen the colour, he doesn't know what it looks like, he's simply going on what he's been told. This goes for both of them.
> 
> I also always have a colour palette of brown and blue when I write Victor and Yuuri's chapters, so any brown and blues that I mention are in fact real shades of colour, just to clarify for some people who think I am making up shades of colours c: 
> 
> I was browsing on tumblr one day and I found this gorgeous piece of fan art (not for the fic) by nyimart http://nyimart.tumblr.com/post/154413378467 everyone should go check out her art because it's amazing, and this piece seemed to tie in so well with my fic, it inspired me even more! We have such talented people in this fandom it's amazing. 
> 
> Big thanks to my beta aka lucifersbff for being a champ and reading this at lightening speed!
> 
> Get ready for the pain train guys... you're in for a bumpy ride this chapter. Also I got super emotional whilst writing this chapter... Yakov is a true hero in this story. Honestly this chapter I think so far has been my favourite to write, I really want to know more about Victor's back story in the canon world, so I've come up with my own fanon theory through this fic - though tbh mine is slightly exaggerated to what might have happened. But I do believe that Victor's parents maybe weren't the nicest of folks. I hope you all enjoy this chapter... Especially the end... that's not going be painful at all :))

Victor squinted through the flashes of tawny as the cameras clicked around him. He’d been up on the winner’s podium for what felt like years, his cheeks ached from grinning, and the euphoria had begun to seep away.

He’d done it. Sixteen-year-old Victor Nikiforov had won the European Championships. It had been one of the toughest competitions of Victor’s life, but somehow, as if by some miracle, he’d managed to win. He’d thrown everything he had into his skating – every moment over the past eight years had been solely dedicated to making sure he never lost again. At times, it hadn’t felt worth it. Victor was distracted at all times during the day, what with his education, and then attending practise for several hours in the evenings.

 At night though it was a different story. _I’ve thrown my entire life away_ , he would think to himself, _all I do is skate, skate, skate._ There were so many things he had missed out. School events, parties… friendship in general. His best friend became the ice which he skated on. He knew every turn of his home rink in St. Petersburg, every dip, every crack. Skating, to put it simply, was his entire life. And there was a part of Victor that couldn’t help but feel bitter about that fact.

“And there he goes, our champion for the 2004 European Championships, here in Budapest, Hungary!” One of the commentator’s boomed from the speakers as Victor began to step down from the winner’s podium. “An absolutely outstanding year for Victor Nikiforov, he came here this year to prove a point and by God has he proved it!”

“Well we were hardly expecting anything less from the son of the legendary Russian figure skating pair, Natasha and Albert Nikiforov,” Another one of the commentator’s drawled back. “God, would you listen to that crowd!”

“They sure do adore him. His parents must be so proud!” The first commentator replied, enthusiasm laced in his voice.

Victor wanted to laugh at that last statement. His parents were never proud of anything he achieved. But maybe… just maybe after this performance, they finally would be. He glided across the ice towards the exit, dark mahogany roses cradled in his arms, a flower crown of aqua blue proudly sat upon his head. Of course, to him the flowers had looked like a light shade of brown, but from what the commentators had announced earlier he knew the flowers were blue. An honour that had very nearly reduced the boy to tears.

He reached the exit of the rink, ready to head home after an exhausting day, when a voice called to him from the audience.

“Victor! Congrats!”

Victor looked up at the source of the sound. His eyes landed on a boy not much younger than him, with a mop of yellow-brown hair, and an eager smile on the boy’s beige face. The boy gazed down at Victor in wonder, admiration evident in the way his hands were clasped together like a prayer. Victor couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“What’s your name?” He called back to the boy.

“Christopher Giacometti!” The boy, now known as Chris, shouted back quickly.

“Okay,” Victor said in English, a gentle smile on his face as he plucked one of the flowers from his bouquet, and threw it towards the younger boy. Chris looked like a deer caught in the headlights as his hands clasped around the flower. The younger boy’s cheeks quickly became red. “Chris, see you at Worlds!”

Chris lowered the flower in his hand, the boy’s eyes shining with glee as he called back, “Yeah!”

Victor smiled tentatively one last time at Chris, then turned around and headed towards Yakov and his parents. They were standing by the curtain which they had entered through at the beginning of the competition. Victor began to walk faster, the guards on his skates clacking against the hard floor as he quickened his stride. Yakov’s back was turned away from Victor, he was facing towards Victor’s parents, his shoulders tensed and his fists were clenched at his sides. Victor immediately stopped walking. He knew from Yakov’s defensive stance that Victor’s parents were not happy with the performance, that Yakov was trying to soothe their tempers, that somehow, despite Victor winning a gold medal, it still wasn’t _enough_.

He couldn’t breathe. Victor tried to force air into his lungs, to inhale through his nose, but he couldn’t breathe. Everything he’d worked for, years of bloody injuries, days spent sweating and aching, nights ending with silent tears streaming down his face - It had all been for nothing, because even after that, one of Victor’s most flawless performances, it still didn’t please his parents. He wanted to run. He wanted to ignore the aching in his chest, brush aside the monsters in front of him, and escape. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t keep trying to please people that were simply unpleasable. It was unbearable. A cycle of constant failure, and he couldn’t do it anymore.

Victor was about to turn back around, when his mother, Natasha, fixed her gaze onto him. Though her smile seemed genuine, Victor could tell from the malicious glint in her cocoa brown eyes that she was dissatisfied. Victor clutched tightly at his bouquet of roses, his skin prickling with anxiety. His father, Albert, seemed to have caught on with Natasha’s mood, as he leaned around Yakov, his usual smug grin already on his thin lips. Victor breathed in deeply once more, squared his shoulders and attempted to hold his head high as he began to walk towards them. He was almost there when a great force knocked into him.

“Vitya!” Yakov screamed in his ear, the older man’s arms wrapped around Victor’s lanky frame. “You did so well, Vitya!”

Victor was pretty sure his jaw was on the floor. He gaped at his coach’s actions, he could see over Yakov’s thick shoulders that his parents were just as shocked as he was. In the nine years that Yakov had coached Victor, he’d shown many moments of affection towards him. A ruffle of his hair, a pat on his shoulder, the occasional high five. Yet, never had the man hugged him. In fact, Victor couldn’t remember a time when someone _had_ hugged him. He felt his body begin to shake slightly, a million emotions swirling inside of him – like a whirlpool. Gratitude, recognition, thankfulness. Tears swam in Victor’s eyes.

“That was one of your best performances, Vitya! It was stunning, radiant. Your hard work has definitely paid off,” Yakov roared in his ears.

“T-thank you,” Victor whispered back.

Yakov slowly let go of him. His coach’s usual wheat coloured face now had flecks of burgundy staining his cheeks. Never in the years that Victor had known the fifty-nine-year-old, had he looked so elated. Pride was set in Yakov’s usually stern face, the age lines on his forehead had relaxed. It was a sight to behold, and Victor knew, despite his parent’s reservations, that his performance must have been truly worthy to produce such a reaction from his mentor.

“Are you tired?” Yakov asked him as he reached down to pick up Victor’s discarded bouquet. Victor hadn’t even realised he’d dropped them. He nodded at his mentor as Yakov stood up once more. “I should think so, after that performance! Don’t worry, the interviews shouldn’t take that long and then we can go straight back to the hotel,”

Yakov gripped Victor’s wrist and towed him towards his parents. His mentor didn’t stop at all as they passed them, and went through the black curtain into the back area of the arena. His grip did tighten as they passed them though. Victor could feel their glares burning into the back of his skull as he was led away. Their steps echoed after his and Yakov’s as they made their way to the interview room.

“Yakov?” Victor murmured softly as they approached the room. Yakov looked back at his pupil curiously, stopping outside the doorway of the interview room. “I… Promise you’ll stay with me during the interviews?”

Silence. Yakov stared at Victor, his pupil was twitching slightly and Yakov knew that he was nervous. But, underneath the nervousness there was a message. _Don’t leave me alone with them_. Victor knew that his parents weren’t pleased, and Yakov felt his heart shatter for the poor child. No matter what Victor achieved it was never enough for the great Natasha and Albert Nikiforov. They were always ashamed by their son’s progression. _He hasn’t won enough gold medals Yakov. When we were his age we had achieved twice the amount that he has. We don’t pay you to be soft on him, Yakov._ It made the older man sick.

“Of course, Vitya,” He whispered back quietly so that only Victor could hear him. “Of course,”

 

Once the interviews were finished, alongside some photographs with Victor’s other competitors, the Nikiforov’s and Yakov hurriedly made their way to the family car.

The press was everywhere. Hundreds of photographers swarming around Victor and his parents as they left the Budapest Sports Arena. Different questions being thrown at the family as they tried to make their way to the car.

“Victor! Victor! What are your plans next?”

“Mr. Nikiforov, are you proud of your son’s latest success?”

“Natasha, when will you and your husband be returning to the ice?”

Victor’s mother flashed a dazzlingly smile at the cameras. Despite having a vulgar personality, his mother was a beautiful lady. Russia claimed her as ‘the Princess of Russia’ and hailed her for beauty. Her sharp cheekbones, her lapis eyes, her long silver hair which fell in soft waves down her back, and a smile so radiant that she was likened to a fairy. His mother was the definition of beauty and she knew it.

“I’m sorry everyone,” She purred to the photographers around her. “But my family and I will be answering no questions at this present moment,”

The roar around them only increased and Victor withheld from rolling his eyes. His mother knew that interacting with the photographers only increased their attention, and yet she did it anyway. As they made their way through the herd of flashing cameras, Victor’s father threw his signature smile at the photographers as they passed, and Victor plastered a smile of his own onto his face. The first thing you learnt when being brought up in the Nikiforov family, was how to perfect a ‘fake’ smile. His mother and father used them so often that sometimes even Victor couldn’t tell the difference. Their whole personalities were fake too. Though Victor hated to use his, it sometimes came in useful.

They finally reached their family car and Albert pushed his son into the back straight away. Victor sat in the middle seat, Yakov joined him on his right side, and his mother slide into the car on his left side. His father sat in the front seat alongside their driver, Maxim.

“Back to the hotel, Sir?” The driver inquired as he pulled away from the curb of the street.

“Yes, Maxim, back to the hotel,”

The car fell into silence. Victor felt his palms begin to sweat. _Any minute now_ , he thought to himself, _any minute now and the interrogation will begin._ His parents wouldn’t care that they had an audience. The more the merrier. Victor could feel Yakov tense beside him. His mentor obviously aware of what was about to take place. Victor didn’t blame Yakov, there wasn’t anything the elder man could do to soothe his parent’s wraith, no matter what he did. Victor was grateful that Yakov even tried in the first place.

“So, Victor,” His mother drawled beside him. Her gaze seemed to be on her bold sienna nail polish but Victor knew her full attention was really on him. “You seem very pleased with yourself,”

“Yes, mother,” He mumbled staring pointedly down at his clasped hands.

“And why is that exactly?” His father hissed from the front seat. Victor’s head whipped up to meet Albert’s eyes in the rear-view mirror.

“B-because I won a gold medal father,”

“Yes, you did, Victor, though I honestly don’t know how considering the number of mistakes you made!” Natasha declared in a taunting tone, practically singing the words.

“I realise there were mistakes, and I swear that I will fix them before my next performance, but surely you must be -”

“Don’t talk back to your mother!” Albert bellowed. Victor shrunk back down into his seat. Any feeling of defiance gone.

“You really have gotten cocky recently, dear,” Natasha said, contempt dripping from her tone. There was a challenge in her words. A _see what happens if you defy me_ , ringing in her velvety voice.

Victor swallowed. His hands had begun to shake.

“Far too cocky for your own good,” His father announced from the front.

“I’m sure his soulmate wouldn’t appreciate that!”

Victor froze. _I’m sure his soulmate wouldn’t appreciate that, I’m sure his soulmate wouldn’t appreciate that, I’m sure his soulmate wouldn’t appreciate that._ His hands stopped shaking. A deadly calm filled Victor’s veins. It was one thing to torment him. To be cruel to him, to taunt him, and abuse him when they knew that he wouldn’t defy them. He had grown used to his parent’s manipulative ways, had slowly become devoid of any feeling towards them – towards anyone – over the recent years in his life. He knew to expect ridicule from them, to expect nasty words. It never stopped him from hoping that one day they would change, though deep down he knew they never would. It was one thing to be cruel to him, it was another thing entirely to be cruel towards his soulmate, a person that none of them had ever met, a person that Victor regarded so closely to his heart. _How dare they_ , he screamed in his head, _how dare they!_

“His soulmate must be –”

“My soulmate,” Victor barked. “Appreciates me for I am! They cherish me when you have pushed me into the deepest depths of despair, they guide me back to the light. My soulmate has never once rejected me, unlike the both of you who have neglected me for the entirety of my life! My soulmate is the one person in this world that truly understands me, the only thing that has pushed me to carry on living this worthless existence that you have so often told me I am! I do it for them, not for me, and certainly not for you!” He screamed at his parents, enjoying the utter bewilderment that crossed his mother’s face, and the widening of his father’s eyes in the rear-view mirror.

“You think you have broken me?” Victor laughed bitterly. “You think you have beaten me down, ruined me! Well you haven’t and you never will, I will never, _never_ , give you the satisfaction of breaking me. Not until the day I die! You pity me, father? How many times in my life have the both of you told me that you pitied me, that you pitied the person who was my soulmate, well you shouldn’t pity me at all, if anything I’m the one who pities you! I pity the fact that you two are going to spend the rest of your miserable lives together, simply because you resorted to second best! I pity the fact that you both will never truly know what’s it like to love someone and have them love you unconditionally in return!”

Victor breathed out heavily. There was still so much more he wanted to say but the energy had left him. Dead silence resounded throughout the car – even Maxim was sitting there, mouth hanging wide open, hands tightly clasped around the steering wheel. His father was staring in stunned silence at his son. His mother was a different story. Victor defiantly turned to meet her gaze and he wasn’t disappointed to what he found.

Natasha Nikiforov was livid. Her right eye was twitching, red blotches of maroon had erupted across her face, and her shoulders had begun to shake despite having a heavy jacket around them. His mother was furious and Victor felt triumphant.

“You awful child!” She screeched whipping her hand out, readying to strike him across the cheek, as she often did. “You selfish, arrogant, little boy! After everything your father and I have done for you, everything we have sacrificed to make you great, and _you dare_ , you dare to behave so disrespectfully towards us? You will learn, Victor, you spoilt, nasty little –”

“I think that’s enough, Natasha,” Yakov grasped her hand as she made to hit Victor.

“Unhand me, Yakov! Right now!” She snarled at Victor’s mentor. “You were always far too soft on the boy, I kept telling you and telling you that treating him this way would only lead to failure, and I was right! Still, you never listened! Albert and I are the ones who pay you, yet you deliberately went against our wishes, time and time again, and I for one am sick of it!”

“I have mentored Victor in the way that I have seen fit, Natasha,”

“You have mentored him to be weak,” Albert finally piped in once more. “We are Nikiforov’s and we do not accept failure from our son, Yakov, we employed you because we knew how stern of a coach you are, you were the perfect man for the job,”

“I _was_ the perfect man for the job when I first met Victor,” Yakov fumed. “But watching him grow, boring witness to the way you treated your only son… It changed the way I treated him,”

“What treatment?” Natasha commanded. “Pray tell, Yakov, how have we treated your dear Vitya?”

Victor watched his mentor intently. A glint of rage flashed in the older man’s eyes, his fist clenched around Natasha’s fingers once more, and then slowly Victor watched as a wave of calm seemed to wash over the man, his mentor’s fingers slipping from his mother’s hand.

“I have seen you treat this child awfully, Natasha,” Yakov began, his voice was quiet and steady, and Victor couldn’t help but feel that this was far worse than if he were shouting. “Along with you, Albert. You have both hurt this child in ways that I cannot even comprehend. I stood aside for far too long and ignored it, I tried to convince myself that you were making your son stronger, that Victor would be better for it. But, I know now that I was completely and utterly wrong. So very, very wrong, and I cannot apologise to you enough, Vitya, for not stepping in soon,” Yakov’s voice had taken on a wistful tone, and remorse swept across his features. Victor blinked and the look was gone, once again replaced with a look of utter rage and destruction. “But you know, it got me thinking… What would the press say if, oh I don’t know, an anonymous tip came in about your treatment towards Victor?”

Natasha gasped. Her hands flew to face, and her normally sandy skin went completely pale. Albert’s eyes widened in panic in the rear-view mirror.

“What treatment, Yakov?” His father said desperately, denial clear in his tone.

Yakov turned his attention to Victor’s father, and the older man smiled at Albert… but it wasn’t a kind smile. No, this smile was grim. Nasty. A mother bear protecting her cub.

“The fact that I have not only seen the way you emotionally abuse Vitya, but on multiple occasions I have seen you act out physically against him too,”

“You wouldn’t dare,” His mother breathed out. Her hands were now shaking and her face was gleaming with sweat.

“I would Natasha, believe me, I would,”

Albert swore. Victor turned his attention back to front of the car and delightedly saw that his father was shaking. Albert kept repeatedly smoothing down his ash-white hair, which to Victor looked like wheat, his hands constantly grasping his ponytail which was so like Victor’s own one. Finally, Albert swallowed and turned around to look at Yakov properly.

“What do you want? More money? Because we can give you anything,” Albert pleaded, fear reflected in his eyes. “Anything at all,”

Yakov looked extremely pleased and self-satisfied as he said, “I want full custody of Vitya, from this moment onward,”

The car was once again reduced to silence. Victor froze. Natasha stared at Yakov in shock, and Albert sat gaping at the elderly man. Seconds, minutes, maybe even hours passed. The car remained silent. Victor felt hot tears burn in his eyes and he quickly squeezed them shut. _Don’t cry_ , he chastised himself, _not here, not yet_.

“We… We can’t just let you have our son,” Natasha finally murmured after a few moments in a subdued voice. “He’s the only child we have, all of our expectations are on him –”

“You think I care about any of that?” Yakov snorted back.

“He isn’t your son, Yakov!” Natasha yelled angrily, breaking her calm demeanour.

“He’s more my son than he’s ever been yours! I think of Victor as my own flesh and blood, I know more about the boy than you could ever possibly know, I have taken care of him as if he were my own since he was seven years old and I will be _damned_ if I let him continue to live with either of you from this moment on!”

“There is no way in hell that we are –”

“Do you want the whole of Russia to find out what the both of you have been doing to their darling star? Their golden boy? Your faces will be splashed over every worldwide newspaper for months, everything you’ve worked for, the titles which you have earnt will most likely be stripped from you, your competitors will no longer respect, your fans will no longer idolise you… Is that really what you want Natasha? Albert? Everything you ever worked for. Gone with one simple phone call,”

Albert and Natasha both sat shell shocked. Their entire world had come crumbling down around them and Victor waited with bated breath as they made their decision. He knew what their answer would be. It was going to be a yes, of course, his parents cared far too much about their reputation, about their stupid family name, to let any kind of scandal such as this ruin it. Victor knew that this, this very moment in time, was about to change the entire course of his life. If his parents agreed Victor would be granted a certain freedom that he never would have achieved whilst living with them. Yakov would be different. Yakov would understand him more. His mother suddenly turned to Victor’s father and the pair seemed to share a look of understanding. They both nodded at one and other, and then Natasha turned back to Yakov.

“A-Alright, Yakov,” Natasha croaked. There was still fear in her eyes and something akin to astonishment too. “We give you permission to legally take care of Victor,”

“I knew you would agree!” Yakov grinned mockingly, winding his arm tightly around Victor’s shoulder and pulling him in close. Away from his mother. “Of course, I will send you weekly updates with Victor’s progress, you will be aware of his skating schedule, how his training is going, and you may join us when we attend competitions if you wish. Once we are back in St. Petersburg’s I will get in contact with the family solicitor immediately to handle any documentation that may be legally required,”

“Thank you,” Albert hissed slightly as he turned back around in the front seat. Natasha simply stared at Victor and Yakov, her eyes slightly glazed and lost. Yakov squeezed Victor’s shoulder tightly. Reassurance, comfort, love. _Thank you, thank you, thank you,_ Victor thought, _thank you._

Once they arrived back at the skater’s hotel, Victor’s parents quickly departed from the car and made their way separately to the hotel’s reception. Their faces were ashen but they still both smiled for the numerous photographers as they entered building. Victor and Yakov followed swiftly behind them, but this time when Victor smiled at the cameras it was genuine. Heartfelt. He meant every smile he gave.

Yakov guided Victor straight through the lobby, shielding him from his parent’s glares as they left the lift and walked to Yakov’s hotel room. With the door firmly shut behind them, Victor finally felt like he could breathe again. As did Yakov apparently, who let out a long exhale. His mentor turned to look at him and Victor couldn’t help the grin that overtook his face. It seemed that his mentor, his soon to be legal guardian, couldn’t either because soon the pair of them were grinning like loons. Trying to hold in their laughter. Victor was certain that they were both slightly hysterical.

“I never thought I’d get to do that,” Yakov said later as they lounged on their room’s settee. The telly was on quietly, they were re-watching Victor’s winning performance, and the room was quite dark save for a few dimly lit lamps. “I’d had that planned for months now, waiting for the right moment to do it… But after your performance this afternoon…. Vitya you were incredible. Absolutely astounding. Nobody can deny you of that gold medal, you earnt it. You worked so bloody hard, and yet…”

“Yakov, it’s okay, thank you,”

“No, it’s not okay!” Yakov raised his voice and Victor looked at him from across the settee in shock. “Vitya, they should have been proud of you! They should have been delighted by your performance, but they are incredibly selfish people, incredibly selfish and jealous. They kept telling you that they were better than you, Vitya, but it’s the other way around. You have always been better than them, and that upset them. Greatly. They treated you so horribly, and I am so sorry that I didn’t step in sooner,”

“Yakov,” Victor reached for his mentor’s wrist and clutched onto it when he found it. “Yakov, please don’t apologise. You… You have no idea what you have just done for me. You saved me, and not just by taking me, you have saved me from them multiple times over the years. You were always there to soothe their ruffled feathers, to help me up when they had pushed me down, to comfort with the little pieces of affection that you gave. I will always be grateful to you, Yakov, you’ve not only been my coach, but you’ve become… well, like family to me,”

Yakov stared in shock at Victor, his cheeks burning burgundy once more. Then Yakov slowly smiled.

“I’ve always considered you to be my son, Vitya, even if we aren’t related by blood.” His mentor’s voice was soft and gentle, but then his expression changed once more into something harder. More serious. “Just promise me Vitya, that if I ever upset you that you will tell me?”

“Oh, I…”

“Promise me!”

“I promise,”

Yakov smiled at him once more and then stood up. Stretching his arms over his head. “Great, now that’s settled, I think it’s time I went and got us both some dinner,”

“Get us something fattening and greasy, please! I’ve earnt it!” Victor called after him as his mentor begin to leave the room.

“Don’t get too cocky kid,”

Victor faked a gasp and sat up from the settee to stare at his coach with a mocking look of a hurt on his face. “What? Me? Cocky? Oh, Yakov how could you even suggest such a thing!”

Yakov simply shook his head at his student’s antics and left the room, leaving Victor grinning behind him.

“Dasvidanyia, Yakov!” Victor called after him.

“Dasvidanyia, you little twerp,” Yakov shouted back through the door mockingly.

Victor continued to grin as he heard his mentor’s footsteps slowly fade away. He then sat up, turned off the television and headed towards the bathroom. He flicked on the lights and was immediately met with an oval mirror, a glass shower, a wash basin under the mirror, and a cabinet next to the loo. He walked straight towards the cabinet, prying its door opening and searching quickly for the instrument he required. He needed to be quick. He couldn’t let Yakov see what he was about to do – not only would it break the older man’s heart, but his mentor was definitely going to be angry at him for doing this to himself. But Victor had to. He needed to do this. It was the last thing he needed to completely sever himself from his past, from the ties which bound him to his mother and father.

His hands grasped around the object he’d been desperately searching for, he took them from the cabinet, turned to check over his shoulder that Yakov hadn’t returned, and then straightened up and faced the mirror.

A pair of scissors sat nestled in Victor’s right hand. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. At the ponytail that was still tied up neatly on the top of his head. It felt like a weight pulling him down, binding him to his father, binding him to the sadness and unworthiness he had felt his entire life. He slowly placed the scissors on the sink, and then returned his fingers to brush the warm tears that had begun to fill his eyes. Victor ever so gently shut his eyes and slowly, ever so slowly, moved the tips of his fingers across his eyelids. He prayed that somewhere in the world his soulmate could feel the gentle caress of his fingers, he hoped that they would understand the gratitude, the love, which he poured into the small movement. _You gave me courage today_ , he thought, _you allowed me to stand up for myself after so many years of being tormented and abused. Thank you. Thank you for everything._

“We did it,” He whispered aloud as the tears welled up in his eyes. “I’m finally free,”

And with trembling fingers, Victor picked up the scissors from the bathroom sink and raised them up to his ponytail.


	5. Update Situation

Hey everyone! 

I'm so sorry it's been so long without any update! I can't apologise enough and I know you've all been waiting patiently for me. I've had A Levels for the last few months and the exams I've been doing are really important and will hopefully get me into the uni I want to go, which is why I haven't updated in forever. 

But! I'm happy to announce that I only have one more exam left and then freedom! This fic will be updated either this week or next week (most likely next week) thank you all so much for your patience and your lovely comments! I've missed writing about these boys so much, so I'm really excited to get writing again!

\- S


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